Prince Bramble struggles with his sense of self worth, and finds a chance to prove his own value to himself when disaster strikes at the Ambershine Festival.
Time has passed since the deer of Thicket successfully reclaimed their lands from Well-to-Do's encroaching 'progress'. Prince Bramble no longer calls his father 'papa', but he remains small in stature, both physically and —according to him— in regards to his royal standing.
Soon, the longest day of the year will dawn and with it, the deer will celebrate another Ambershine Festival. The prince was given charge of the event's preparations, but fears it to be a meager test apt for a buck weak of spirit. Little does he know that the coming disaster will test not only his resolve and that of his friends, but their ability to learn and to forgive.
"The trees bear witness to all that transpires, and their roots grow from all that we leave behind. Their memories, and ours, are petrified in amber. Let the morning cast a new light upon the past, and let us find in its glow the path to the future."
This story takes place an indeterminate amount of time after IDW's comic issues #27 and #28 (The Root of the Problem) and, though centered on Bramble, makes extensive use of original characters as well as some of my personal headcanon. I've never written fanfiction before (or really anything involving characters that didn't belong to me, hence the overreliance in original ones) and it's an entirely new genre for me. I hope that you enjoy it.
Sparkling clear liquid poured on the earth from a small wooden casket. Lithe green vines magically emerged from the puddle and climbed up the legs of the wooden arch, twirling around each other before meeting at its top. As they grew, flowers in yellow, pink and light blue sprouted across their length, dressing the knotty brown wood beneath in a festive multicolored gown. Prince Bramble smiled at his work and tilted his head to the side, giving the potion’s magic a light mental tug so that the flowering green strings would encircle the figures carved on the arch, rather than cover them. Feeling that there remained a tiny bit of ‘juice’ in the liquid spell, he tilted his head down and up again in an almost imperceptible manner. The vines responded, and a thin newborn strand coiled itself around the forehead of one of the carvings decorating the arch: an image of a regal looking doe. Three tiny flowers crowned the ancient monarch, and Bramble took a step back to give the piece a last look over.
“It’s beautiful, Bramble” said a feminine voice a few feet behind him.
The prince smiled, and a brief surge of pride brought warmth to his cheeks. Though he was no longer a fawn, he was smaller than most bucks his age, and his budding antlers, while sharp-tipped, were not even a third the size of those of his father. “Thanks!”
Hornberry, the doe that had complimented him, was sitting comfortably under the sun. Her ash-colored coat was splattered with irregular clear spots on the side, a reminder of a childhood accident that had marked her for life. She had much in common with the prince: she was also small, and just as dedicated as he was to the finesse and aesthetic of her vine-binding, the magical art that granted the deerfolk of the Everfree mastery over the plants of the forest. “You’ve worked really hard the last two days. Your father will be proud of you.”
“I hope as much.” Bramble’s gaze moved slowly and with intent across the plaza, inspecting the various floral arrangements made either by him, or following his instructions. There were a few other vinebinders working alongside him that morning, growing new decorations after having removed the old and drying, and adding the finishing touches to the wooden statues of the stag kings of old. His eyes paused on two deer across the central mound: they had poured a bit too much potion on the soil, and were now struggling to keep the growing vines trim and prevent them from covering the fourth king’s head and antlers in their entirety. He felt a swell of irritation and took two steps in their direction before taking a deep breath and stopping himself. It was a mistake, but one they could and were fixing by themselves. “The hardest part is not the work you do yourself, but coordinating everydeer else’s. Some of these are experienced vinebinders, and others not so, and it’s my burden to look out for all of them, ensure that they’re doing things the right way, the right amount, and in adherence to schedule.”
“I guess that’s why you were appointed to direct the preparations for the festival,” Hornberry reflected. “The Heart of the Forest wants you to learn to lead your future subjects.”
“Maybe,” said Bramble. Or maybe, he thought, he thinks growing flowers is all I’m good at. It hadn’t been some time since the deer had had to repel Well-to-Do’s construction project to ensure the safety of the forest and the continuation of their lifestyle. Though he had played a pivotal part in the resolution of the conflict, it didn’t erase the fact that by allowing himself to be captured, he had put his father at a terrible disadvantage and nearly cost him his crown and his freedom. They were fortunate that Blackthorn, captain of the Heartguard, was there to take the lead and rally the warriors for a retaliatory attack, with help from the beasts of the forest and the six ponies that had come to their aid from Equestria. True, he had helped restore life to the land and that was important, but Bramble couldn’t shake the feeling that, without Blackthorn to lead the charge, his previous actions would have surely doomed them. Growing flowers was all I could do when my kingdom needed me.
“I think so,” said Hornberry with a small smile, looking around the plaza herself. It took Bramble a second to realize she was reaffirming her earlier statement rather than reading his thoughts. “And I think you’re doing a great job of it.”
The prince reiterated his gratitude and admired her own work on the altar at the center of the plaza: the vines surrounded its edges but had not covered the sides, and there was no connection between them and the earth save for a very delicate one that had skillfully woven itself nearly unseen among the crevices. That thin vine had sprouted into a wonderful arrangement of large and colorful flowers, particularly the white and orange ones she so favored. At its center, two finely carved wooden stag heads acted as supports for the centerpiece of the plaza and the whole celebration: the Amber Staff, a wooden cane that held, trapped between thin and knotted fingers of wood, a number of shiny, oval-shaped lumps of the forest’s most ancient sap. The ages and the lingering magic of the Everfree itself had hardened them into beautiful gems of amber that were worth competitors, in terms of beauty, to the most vibrant stones under the earth. “Well, I’m certain to with your aid. Your arrangement is wonderful.”
“Hey guys!” Another doe skipped towards them from the gates’ direction, the satchels that hung from her side bouncing with each ginger hop. “Are you done with your gardening? It’s nearly lunch time!”
“Hey Nutmeg. Hornberry is, but I’ve still got loads to do. I need to check on the arrangements down the main path and at the palace, and make sure that old Hickory has got all the ingredients for the earthroot potions and… “
“We’re ready to have some lunch,” Hornberry softly interrupted him with an amused little smile. “The prince is just a bit nervous, and forgets he needs to eat something like everydeer else.”
“Isn’t that just like the prince?” teased Nutmeg. “Maybe if he had drank more milk as a fawn he wouldn’t be such a shorty now.”
Bramble fought back a snarl. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, then reared his head and puffed his chest out to gain a few inches. “I’m only a few inches shorter than you are.”
Nutmeg raised a dark, cloven hoof to very lightly tap on the tips of his horns. “Yeah, but that’s only counting the antlers, and you know that’s cheating!” She giggled and gave him a rather rough ruffle, completely unafraid of his temper. Her coat was a light shade of orange, with white spots on the rump and a wide pearly streak running through her whole underside, including a tail she fancied the ‘pomfiest’ of the forest. Her coat was far from pristine however: more often than not it was full of loose twigs, leaves, and splatters of mud from her constant outings to the wild, and more often than not, in this case, meant always. “I’m just teasing you, prince. Now, look!” She removed her satchels with her teeth, then set them down and opened them. “I’ve got nuts, and acorns, and some more nuts, and blueberries! …oh. Oh, scratch the blueberries. Eesh, that’s not going to come out… OH! And mushrooms! Look at the size these!”
“Are you certain those are edible…?” asked Hornberry in a low voice.
“Sure they are! I had two on the way just to check and here I am, live and happy and with just the tiniest tummy rumble!” The shine of Nutmeg’s beam failed to make an impression on the concerned face of the other two, and she rolled her large hazel eyes. “I am sure. I know how to tell these apart. You can ask old Hickory if you don’t believe me. The worst these’ll do is keep you a couple hours in the privy.”
“…well, he does have great experience in that field,” offered Bramble, giving Nutmeg a cautious, knowing smile.
Hornberry wasn’t convinced. “He’s the expert on mushrooms, but…”
“Oh, I didn’t mean the mushrooms.”
The doe blinked at him, then at the tight grin Nutmeg was wearing. Her muzzle scrunched in a rather unenthusiastic expression. “You two are such children,” she muttered in response to their snickering.
A couple dozen yards away, on a small, bushy hill just that side of the great tree-trunk wall, three pairs of pale yellow eyes observed the laughing, feasting and working deer from a thin crack in the earth.
“This is crazy,” muttered a croaky, hoarse little voice. “Going this far into the forest! And for what?”
“The earth here is so tough with all these tree-roots. I can barely feel my arms!” mumbled another one, much deeper.
“You can’t feel your arms? I wish I could stop feeling my own butt! You’re lucky you didn’t get stung by those pu- those puwugies earlier, or whatever they were. My rump is about five different new colors!”
“Quiet,” hissed a third, more even, feminine voice. “These deer have good ears. It took us a while to get this far and I’m not going to let your whining ruin this for me.”
“Sorry Duchess,” apologized the second. “But he’s right. We’ve done all this work, and we don’t know why… “
“Yeah! What’re we even here for? I don’t like deer. I don’t like anyone, but specially not deer.”
“That,” whispered Duchess, and she nudged the others to look in the same direction. “That is our prize.”
“Oooh… but how are we going to get it?”
“Under the cover of night, of course.”
“But there’ll still be guards at night time,” croaked the first voice.
“We’ll figure out the details later. Now we have work to do. We’ll need more tunnels.”
“But my arms…!” whined the deep voice.
“QUIET!”
A large, broad-chested stag on patrol paused as his ears picked up some muffled noises, like mumbling. His eyes, the fur around them spectacled like that of a raccoon, thought they saw a rustle under the bushes, the shifting of the earth, and a crack of some sort… he approached, but there was nothing. Just an regular little hill covered by bushes. Realizing it was probably a stray squirrel, Hornbeam resumed his patrol. He had too much in his mind already. The Ambershine Festival was coming, and as far as he was concerned, it was the worst of the year’s celebrations…
The warm glow of the afternoon sun snuck through the dense canopy above the city of Thicket. A squirrel, its cheeks stuffed with a good bounty of nuts, turned its head to the sounds of muffled voices nearby. It approached the circular window on the side of an old trunk, then leapt and fled when a book hit the glass from the other side, its late lunch tumbling down the trees to land on somedeer’s unfortunate head. Inside, the poor, battered book fell into a haphazard stack of others that had likely found their way there after a similarly bumpy trip.
“Bah! Every year it’s some new gimmick. A fully grown tree? You could at least try to be original about it, boy!” Old Hickory grumbled, quickly flipping through the pages of the fourth book since Bramble had gotten there, which hadn’t been that long, and certainly not long enough for the old stag to have gone through three books. “No recipes for that here. What a waste of a druid that Redcedar was. Never wrote anything useful, ever! Reminds me of somedeer I know. Head always in the clouds, always on the gimmicks, instead of focusing on what was important!”
Bramble and Nutmeg rolled their eyes in unison. Hornberry, on the other hoof, was too busy squeaking in horror and rushing to prevent as much damage to the books as she could. “You said that twice already. Maybe you’ll find the potion in a book by a different author…?” offered the prince, trying his best to remain diplomatic while he walked over to help the doe.
“Potion? What potion!?”
“The… the potion for a fully grown tree. That’s what I asked for. Isn’t that what you’re looki—“
Hickory grabbed the book with his teeth and flung it backwards. It missed the mark this time, and bounced on two shelves before collapsing, open, on the floor. “No I’m not looking for any potions! I don’t need to look that up. And if I did, I wouldn’t be going through the self-congratulatory garbage Redcedar wrote. I would want an actual good alchemist, like Sagacious Spruce or King Oakenhelm, may his roots grow strong.”
“Oh!” Nutmeg hopped in place. “I love Smarty Spruce stories! My mom used to tell them to me every night. The books aren’t as fun as the way she told them, though. They’re kinda boring.”
“They aren’t really adventure books. They’re diaries and travelogues, and research papers,” said Hornberry. “The dangers she faced were the dangers inherent to research on the field and the unknown.”
“If you’re not looking for the recipe to my potion,” intervened Bramble before they went too off-topic, “then pray tell, what are you do—?“
“I’m re-shelving! I’m putting all these Redcedar copies where they belong.” He stared at Bramble for a moment with his only working eye, as if waiting for him to ask, but when the buck (who was probably not all that into the whole interruption routine) didn’t, he decided to go ahead and say it anyway. “Out of my sight, that’s where!” As if he’d wait for some fawn’s curiosity or permission to finish a rant, at his age.
“Could you please make the potions for me when you are done then, master Hickory?”
“Bah. You’ll need earthbark potion, and plenty of it. I’ll make it for you, but I disapprove. The Ambershine Festival is about resilience, and how our past experiences, both good and terrible, make us grow tall, solid. Strong! It’s about daring to look at the past in a new light, learning what we can from it and becoming better than we were.” His gazed bored into Bramble, its intensity not at all diminished by the white sightlessness of his left eye.
The prince shrunk a little under the old stag’s stare. “Well, then maybe we’re looking at the festival in a new light. For generations we’ve planted seeds. Then much of the forest was destroyed in an instant, and yet we managed to grow it back just as quickly. We have become stronger from the experience. And that’s this time, instead of just planting seeds, we’ll grow a whole tree,” he reasoned.
Hickory shook his large head, pushing the remaining books on his desk to the side and opening another, larger one. “Trees don’t grow strong overnight, and vines that spread themselves too fast and too far are quick to wither and die.”
Nutmeg glanced at Hornberry. “Is that a Smarty Spruce quote?”
“I think so,” she replied softly.
“Spruce didn’t make that one, she just wrote it down,” bleated Hickory, then he turned around to face Bramble, who had been quietly frowning this entire time. “Now make yourselves useful. Hornberry, be a dear and make a list of ingredients for the Prince and your friend to fetch for us. We need at least an entire cauldron of earthbark, so that will be about… probably forty doses. Earthbark needs to rest for at least one night, so I will need them before the day’s done. Now move! I will sort out what ingredients I’ve already got laying around.”
“All this for a bunch of raccoons,” mumbled the buck besides Hornbeam while they listened to captain Blackthorn’s briefing. “Somedeer’s turnip patch gets a case of the gophers, and suddenly the captain’s got us doing more rounds, just because it’s a holiday.”
Hornbeam nodded quietly, but didn’t quite agree. He felt uneasy, as if he’d caught the whiff of something like a predator in the air, though it wasn’t that of any beast he knew. “I don’t know, Ash. I saw something this morning. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a gopher. And I think it saw me, too.”
“I think I know what it was,” replied the gray buck besides him.
“You do?”
“The chance to be moody and worried for no reason. You couldn’t spot a doe making eyes at you if she was five feet in front of you, but any excuse to sulk you catch with your eyes closed and your nose clogged.” Ash gave him a light bump on the hip before he could retort. “Look alive, captain’s coming!” he whispered.
Blackthorn, captain of the royal guard, was a brown stag with strong legs and sharp antlers, but it was his stern demeanor and ferocity in battle that Hornbeam admired. He looked into their eyes as he addressed them, standing tall in the red armor that was his badge of office. “Rangers Ash and Hornbeam, you will be stationed at the gate. No one gets in our out after the twilight call.”
“Yes sir,” both stags replied in unison.
“But sir,” said a doe on the other side of the circle of assembled rangers. “All the reported disturbances were very far away from the gates.”
“Precisely,” said Blackthorn, looking down at the map of the city that had been beautifully carved onto the large tree-stump between them. “The rest of you will comb the city’s ground levels for any traces of predator activity you can find. If these are just wild animals, as some of you have understandably posited, we will not need more than a hoof-ful of rangers at the gate. But in case they are not, I want spotters there to call out a warning.”
Not long after, Hornbeam and his partner stood at their assigned posts. “Well, at least we’re not doing the actual rounds,” said Ash, stretching one of his hind legs. “I mean, the walk’s good for keeping you awake, but I went running out today and let me tell you, I don’t mind standing still for a little while.” He glanced at Hornbeam, but the only reply he received was an absent ‘hrm’. “Got any plans for after the festival tomorrow?”
Hornbeam’s eyes were set on the plaza before them, the bustle of activity in the marketplace, and the grassy mounds that surrounded it. “I was thinking about spending some time with mom and my sister, and just be rested for work the day after.”
“Well, the boys were planning on going to the lake for a picnic. My cousin from Briar is coming for a few days, I think you’d like him. Maybe you can bring Hornberry with you and we can— what?” Ash followed the other stag’s sudden frown to a trio approaching them: Hornberry, Nutmeg, and Bramble. He straightened his posture, raising his head. “Good afternoon, my prince.”
Bramble acknowledged them with a courteous “Rangers” and a pleasant nod as he passed them. Hornberry followed him, giving each a small smile and a quieter hello. Nutmeg bumped hooves with Ash with a wide grin, and gave Hornbeam a playful shove. “Our brave soldiers mind the gates! We’ll give you a thorough report of the forest outside when we get back,” she said.
“Hopefully it will not be long enough for you to make a very thorough one,” said Hornbeam in a louder, clear voice, looking pointedly at the prince. “No one is allowed in or out after the twilight call. Captain’s orders.”
Bramble paused and turned to look at him with a faint, concerned frown. “Blackthorn’s orders? Has something happened?”
“Nothing of import, my prince” said Ash with a small smile. “It’s just a cautionary measure, but of course you and our friends may pass. We merely—”
“There have been several reports of suspicious activity in and out of the city,” Hornbeam cut him off in a rather curt tone. “Orders are that the gate is closed and not opened again, for anyone, to ensure the safety of the city and its inhabitants. Surely the Prince will understand the implications.”
Bramble’s frown spread to the rest of the deer, though it was more noticeable on Ash and Hornberry, who looked at Hornbeam with a faint trace of disapproval. The prince tilted his head to the side. “Of course. We are to find and bring back some ingredients for earthbark potion, for the festival. I’m confident we’ll be back before twilight.”
That would have been enough for most other rangers, but not to Hornbeam, who took a step towards the group, “Considering the situation as well as the sun’s position in the sky, my prince, I would advise you actually stay within city limits, as ordered.”
“Pardon?” said Bramble. “You said the orders were to close the gates at twilight, there was no mention of transit in and out of the city before that time.”
“The situation is uncertain,” said Hornbeam without skipping a beat. “No-one’s safety is guaranteed outside.”
“Hornbeam,” said Hornberry with a stern tone. “You already warned us about the gate. We’ll be here before twilight. Bramble is the prince, and this is important.”
The stag didn’t even bother to look at the doe, spectacled eyes still fixed on Bramble’s. “Yes, he is indeed our Prince. I expect him not to endanger himself or his subjects, my sister among them, to go on a leisure flower-picking stroll through the forest while there are possibly beasts and enemies stalking us and the city is on high alert.”
“What? What’s gotten into you, Hornbeam? I knew you were a stick in the mud, but this is just dumb. You know he can do whatever he wants, right? You can’t just go around trying to butt heads with him for no reason!”
“On the other hoof, I do not at all expect any kind of responsibility from you, Nutmeg.” He did turn towards Nutmeg now, and with a glare. “Your lack of prudence and foresight already cost you your place amongst the rangers, and you really seem to have learnt nothing from the experience.”
Ash, who had been nervously looking between his partner and the group, now stared at the first with furrowed brows. “Hey. That was uncalled for.”
Hornbeam ignored him, but Nutmeg wasn’t going to. Billowing steam from her nostrils, she started stomping her way to the stag to give him a piece of her mind when Bramble stepped between them. He softly shook his head at her, and regarded Hornbeam with a neutral, aloof expression. “Your advisement shall be taken into consideration, ranger. You may return to your post.” And with that, he turned his back on him and continued on his way towards the forest, with the does following close behind – Hornberry throwing a final, angry look at her older brother as she went.
“We should get back,” said Bramble, his eyes lowering from purple scratches of sky he could see through the Everfree’s dense canopy.
Hornberry looked at the satchels hanging from Nutmeg’s flank. “We’re still a few roots short… “
“Oh! I know a small valley past the stream where we could find some. There might also be some of those blue glowing toadstools you usually have to go deep underground to find. I’m sure we can get there and back in time for dinner!”
“But not before the gatekeeper makes the twilight call, Nutmeg.” The prince glanced in the city’s general direction with a doubtful expression. “I didn’t like Hornbeam’s attitude, but if those were Blackthorn’s orders, he had a point.”
Nutmeg snorted. “Yeah? Well so did we. If we go back now you’re just going to vindac… to vandic… you’re just going to make him be all smug like he was right all along! Ever since becoming a ranger, he’s been acting more and more like a jerk every day. Uh… sorry for calling him that, Berry. But still.”
The other doe shook her head softly. “He’s… he always gets very tense before the festival.”
Nutmeg rolled her eyes. “Well if you ask me, it’s as if the festival lasted the entire year for him. Why does he hate it so much anyway?”
“Well, when we were little fawns, Beam and I–“
“Did you smell that?” Bramble interrupted. “The wind just changed.”
The does lifted their heads, letting the air in through their nostrils. Hornberry didn’t smell anything, but Nutmeg nodded, her eyes going in the wind’s direction. “Yeah, I got it too.”
“What is it?” The prince took a step closer to her. “Wolves?”
“Wolves?” echoed Hornberry with a little croak.
“No,” said Nutmeg, landing on a broken log after a graceful leap. “It’s like it, but different. Wetter. Worse. And… more earthy. Like… a bit like one of them Maul-things. Maulworf, that’s it.”
“What is a Maulworf?” asked an ever more scared Hornberry.
“It’s like a giant mole monster.”
“What!?”
“Relax,” said Nutmeg turning back to look at her. “It’s not a maulworf. They don’t even come to the forest, too difficult for them to move here. We were taught the smell one time during ranger training, as one of the predators you could find in caves and the like.”
“You think that’s the predator Blackthorn is worried about?” interjected Bramble while gently rubbing his shoulder against the shaky Berry to comfort her.
“They aren’t predators. They eat plants. But they are pretty nasty and they do like smashing things. It’s definitively not a maulworf though. It just… kinda reminded me of the smell a little.” Nutmeg jumped back down from the log, and scraped a small triangle on the ground with her hoof. Then she removed her satchel with her teeth and hung it from Hornberry’s flank instead. “You two get back to the city, I’m going to check it out.”
“No you’re not,” said Bramble with a frown. “Not alone at least.”
“I’ll just take a look and get back to the gate. I was trained for this Bram, trust me.”
“You need me to get back into the city and relay what you find anyway.”
“Uh,” said Hornberry, looking between them. “Shouldn’t we just get back, all three of us, and tell captain Blackthorn of the maulworf?”
“It’s not a maulworf,” insisted Nutmeg, “and it’s pointless if we can’t tell him what it is. Berry, you get back into the city. Bram, you can wait for me at the gate.”
“No. I already went out by myself like this one time and it almost cost my father his kingdom. Hornberry goes to the city, you and I go together. We see what it is, and we get back to report it to Blackthorne.”
Nutmeg smirked at the prince. “Fine.”
Hornberry looked over her shoulder in the city’s direction. “Um, I’m sure if we all go back together and tell the captain, he’ll send a detachment to… “ but then she turned back to see they were already gone. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, she turned with the satchel and hurried back towards the city.
“There,” whispered Nutmeg, pointing in the direction of a large cave mouth in the ground from their hiding spot in the underbush.
Bramble frowned. “I don’t remember that cave being there.”
“That’s because it wasn’t. Ash and I were here last week doing that stupid thing he does with the apple tree up the hill or whatever, and there was no spooky dark cave.”
“ …what does he do with the apple tree?”
“That’s not- it’s not important what he does with the apple tree, Bram! The brand new cave with all the smells and the predators or whatever is.”
“Oh, right.”
“And they say I’m the easily distracted one.”
“Wait. What is that?” Bramble and Nutmeg’s eyes returned to the cave’s mouth, and the warm glow now coming from within it and casting long, black shadows out over the grass. Two rather large, furred creatures came out, one grey, the other a dirty brown. They walked on their short and stubby hind legs, occasionally helping themselves with one of their fore ones, which were much longer and ended in large claws. One of them wore a ragged, almost tattered sleeveless coat. The other had a torch on one of its fore paws. They had short, pointy ears, and broad jaws with large fangs. “ …are those the maulworves?”
“Psht, ‘course not!” whispered Nutmeg. “A maulworf’s like… three times their size.”
“Then what are they?”
Nutmeg frowned. “Trouble.”
“What?”
“Trouble. You asked what are they, and I’m saying, they’re trouble.”
Bramble stared at her with flattened eyebrow. “Okay, and how does that help any? I know they’re trouble, I’m asking you what manner of creature they are.”
Nutmeg scrunched her muzzle. “Well I don’t know! I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“Quit playing, Nutmeg! This is serious.”
“Come on. How many chances do you get of saying 'trouble' when somefawn asks you that that and being actually able to play it straight?”
“Shush. Look.” The prince looked at the strange, pseudo-bipedal creature as it changed to a quadrupedal gait, determined to learn as much about them as he could. “What’s it doing? It’s lifting it’s back le– oh, that’s… disgusting.”
“It’s marking the entrance for his buddies to find it.”
“You think that’s what we smelled before?”
Nutmeg winced. “Preeeeeetty sure you wouldn’t have to ask me if it was.”
Suddenly, the sound of barking reached their ears, making their fur bristle. A larger, more slender creature emerged from the cavern’s mouth, growling and baring her teeth at the other two. She pointed at the scent marks and barked something like an order or a reprimand to them. The one that had marked quickly set to work, driving his large foreclaws into the ground and tossing heaps of dirt over the spot to cover it.
“Well, she didn’t like that,” muttered Nutmeg. “She’s probably the one in charge.”
“We need to report this to Blackthorn.” Bramble started slowly crawling back, when a long, deep, coarse bleat rose from between the branches, echoing through the woods and vibrating through the dusky skies. “That’s the twilight call. Come on, we have to get going.” The deer crawled back through the undergrowth and skipped into the woods, while the creatures by the cavern acted in kind.
“Back inside, mutts!” barked Duchess while the call still rumbled. “That’s their goodnight howl. What were you idiots doing out there? With lights, even!”
“Sorry boss,” whined one of the Diamond dogs. “Brutus here said he smelled something funny so we thought we could come out this exit here, and mark it just in case some other pack came by. You know, so they knew to stay away, and–“
“There are no other packs around here, numbskull! We’re the only ones that dare into the forest. That’s why the deer don’t expect us, and why we can surprise them. But it won’t work if you tailchasers cast your mark on every wind for them to smell us!”
“Sorry boss, we–“
Duchess snarled “Get back inside!” and the two grunts did, running with their short knobby tails between their legs. She took her first step back in herself, then caught a whiff in the air, and turned to look at the forest around. Her lip lifted in a low growl. She put the torch out, got on all fours and ran back into the depths.
Bramble and Nutmeg were nearly out of breath when they got back to the great wooden gates of Thicket. Well, at least Bramble was. “Open the gates!” he shouted up in response to the gatekeeper, who bleated angrily and questioningly from the tower at the shadowed arrivals.
“The city is closed until the morning! Captain’s orders!”
“I am Prince Bramble of Thicket. I have news for captain Blackthorne. Open the gates now!”
The gates slowly slid open, but before they could step inside, they were met by a near charge from Hornbeam, who looked completely besides himself with anger. It took Ash and another guard to restrain him. “You’re back!” His eyes looked at each of them, then scanned the forest behind them. “Where’s–!?”
“The creatures? They didn’t see us,” said Bramble. “But they might still smell we were there. We need to see captain Blackthorn.”
“Creatures!?” roared Hornbeam, with a mixture of anger and alarm. “What creatures!?”
Nutmeg seemed confused. “Were you asking about the roots for the potion? Berry has them. She probably took them straight to Hickory rather than bothering you.”
But Bramble’s eyes had already widened with understanding. Hornbeam stood on his hinds, casting Ash and the other ranger aside, then stamped loudly in front of them, steam billowing form his nostrils.
